


Cuts and Bruises

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Its fluff ya know it, not rly hurt/comfort but??? if u like that ull probably like this so, self indulgent but who CARES!, trans kanan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6137941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanan Jarrus is covered in scars. Some are from screwing around with a light saber, others are more important to who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuts and Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for the art house summary i hate to sound like a 2007 smut author but "lmao i suck at summaries just read this"
> 
> anyways warnings for minor descriptions of blood, obvious talk about scars/scarring and surgery.. also warning for mentions of (non violent) transphobia.
> 
> anyways im gay and i love kanan have a good one folks
> 
> also i like to believe that quesadillas exist in the star wars universe and i stand by the fact that kanan is a quesadillas man and not a grilled cheese man

Kanan was covered in scars. From his head to his toes, every inch was riddled in white and darkened hashes and marks. He had smaller ones, like the cuts and swaths of skin burnt off while learning to use a light saber, and larger ones, running down his back, wrapping around his right calf and ebbing off at his ankle. Like any Jedi that had lived through such a massacre as the Clone Wars, he was 50% man, 50% cuts and bruises. Ezra would sometimes ask how he got the jagged claws on his right arm, or the fired mark on his neck. Sometimes he would explain, sometimes he would just laugh and call it a “Jedi Tradition”. Sometimes Zeb, or Sabine, or Hera would interject and tell the right version of the story- he tended to make the duller stories more vivid for Ezra’s imagination. “You got that from making a quesadilla, not from battling an Inquisitor”

But some scars were not funny. The snake tail slice from his chest to right under his belly button, for instance, a harsh reminder of the Jedi master he had lost so many years ago. His body cut straight open by the out of use bayonet of some blurry storm trooper. Even though he had seen it all, blood, guts, war, children and mothers swept from their lives to a bloody end, he found himself most afraid of the two white cuts that curved from the sides in, set on the center of his chest. 

Of course, no one would be rude about it, of course not. He was a good leader and a good friend, and if they said hush about who he appeared to be as a child, than they did not deserve his merit, of course not. But, of course- of course, how could he not be afraid? Afraid of the subtle change that he had experienced when he was younger. The Jedi did not react much, being Jedi, but some of his non force-sensitive friends found their schedules busier than ever, it’s not that I don’t support you, it’s just that I….

Kanan looked down at himself. He faced the bed, shirt thrown off in a haphazard sweep. He had counted before, once when everyone was off doing who knows what, when he was bored out of his mind. 36, he had counted, 36. His fingers, freezing cold, traced the two underneath his chest, in the place a few fingers from where his ribs stopped. He started where they began, several inches from his arms, to the ends, an inch from the center of his chest. He did not know anyone else who had the same scars as him. He was told that there were others, that there had always been others, but sometimes he did not believe it. He felt often alone just being a Jedi, let alone a trans man. 

The sudden and inexplicable rush of cool air made him swing around to face an open door. “Hey, Kanan, Ezra and Sabine are going to go get dinner do you want-“ Hera’s arms dropped from the nonchalant cross, “Oh, sorry.”

He was struck where he stood, glued to the ground. “Don’t worry about it-“

“Do you want me to-?“ She nodded towards the hall.

“You don’t have to-“

“Oh,”

Hera seemed just as stuck to the tracks as Kanan did, “Are you okay?” She offered. “You don’t- you are awfully cut up.” 

“It’s- ah- old.” His shirt was on the bed. He knew that his shirt was on the bed. 

“War scars?” She asked, taking to leaning against the door frame. 

Kanan looked down, at the floor, then back up at Hera, “Yeah, war scars.” He laughed, trying to lift out the weight in his throat. There was something about the look in Hera’s eyes that made him realize that she knew. She had glanced at him for a moment, before looking back up, unconsciously mirroring his movement. Something had shifted. 

He felt a lurch in his stomach; he knew what would happen next. _How long ago?_ Well, about a year before I met you. _What did the Jedi council say?_ I didn’t ask them. Why would I have asked them? _So… you were a girl?_ No, no, no. _No._ Hera would not say that. _No._ Not after all they had been through. No.

“I’ve always liked your name, Kanan.” She gave that soft smile that warmed him to his core.

“There’s magic in a name, at least that’s what the Jedi say.” His hands finally found the white shirt and pulled it over in one shrug. He felt weak in his chest, like he had done fifty pushups and then had a panic attack in the engine room. But it was okay- he was okay- for one, he _hadn’t_ done fifty push ups, and thank the stars he _hadn’t_ had a panic attack. He was positively okay.

“So, sandwiches or curry?” Hera finished what she had originally come to ask.

“Curry, to hell with sandwiches.” He sat down on the bed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He looked at his hands, not following Hera as she sat beside him and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Kanan, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, you know that right?” her voice barely rose above a whisper as the door closed without her blocking it.

He opened his shoulders and rested an arm around Hera’s. She took his other hand and placed her palm in it, extending her fingers in comparison to his much larger hand. Her finger tips, like his, were calloused and worn from roughing up.

Kanan closed his hand on hers gingerly, “You’re my best friend too.”


End file.
